


Guys Like You

by emphasisonem



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bucky is patient and amused, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Like super brief mention, M/M, Skinny Steve Rogers, Steve is a stubborn and sassy, mild homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emphasisonem/pseuds/emphasisonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I do not,” Steve huffs, chest heaving. “Need your help. Or your pity.”</p><p>The dark-haired teen is glaring down at him, but now the small smile  he was trying to keep in check is playing at his lips. “Tough luck for you, then,” he replies, voice soft and low. “You got my help whether you like it or not.”</p><p>  <b>In which Bucky is a new student and Steve isn't sure why the hell he's decided to befriend him.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Guys Like You

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, I have stories in progress I should be working on, but this idea's been rattling around in my head for the better part of a week. Hope you like it!

When he first meets James Buchanan Barnes, Steve is defensive.

He’s making his way to a copse of trees on the edge of the baseball field where he usually eats lunch on nice days. The September afternoon is bright and warm, and Steve’s looking forward to eating his sandwich and sketching for a while before English.

He’s circling around the gym, the field in his line of sight, when a sneering voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Hey shrimp,” the guy’s broad-shouldered with dark hair. Brock Rumlow, Steve thinks. He’s a year ahead of Steve, a senior and a lineman on the football team, and one of Steve’s usual tormentors. Steve tries to just walk past the guy, tries not to engage, but Brock has other plans.

“I’m talkin’ to you, shrimp,” the other teen practically growls, hand clamping down on Steve’s upper arm with brute strength. Steve does his best not to grimace, but something in his face must give away how much it hurts because now Brock is smiling. That grin fills Steve with a rage so black it scares him a little bit.

“Let go of me, you asshole,” Steve glares, squaring his shoulders, ignoring the fear welling up in his chest. He knows he’d be better off if he just asks this guy what he wants, hands over his lunch or the couple dollars he’s got in his pocket, but Steve doesn’t like letting bullies win. Not without a fight. Besides, sometimes they don’t want anything except to beat him up.

Brock slams him back against the wall of the gym, and the bricks scrape Steve’s lower back as his t-shirt rides up. The smaller teen hisses with the pain of it.

“Not very nice, shrimp,” Brock grins. “Gonna have to teach you some manners.”

He pulls his arm back, and Steve braces for impact, already dreading explaining the bruises to his mother. But the hit never comes.

Instead, Brock’s weight against him is suddenly gone. Steve hears an “oof” and opens his eyes. They widen as he takes in the scene before him.

A tall, wiry guy he’s never seen before is between him and Brock, posture defensive and glare intense as he stares down at Brock. He’s standing there in dark wash jeans and a leather jacket, long dark hair hanging to his shoulders. Steve wonders how many James Dean and Marlon Brando movies this guy has seen and  has to stifle a hysterical giggle at the thought.

“How about you pick on somebody your own size?” the brunet asks, hands curling into fists as Brock begins to rise from the pavement.

“How about you mind your own fuckin’ business?” Brock growls, moving to take a swing. The brunet dodges the punch deftly, hooking his right arm and landing a hit to the other teen’s midsection. Brock clutches his side, glaring, but begins backing away.

“We’re not done here, shrimp,” he hisses, and then he’s gone, disappearing around a corner.

The brunet turns to Steve, and _good god_ , he’s attractive. Sharp, handsome features. Plush lips that look like they were made to be kissed. Large gray eyes like the sky before a July thunderstorm. In a normal situation, Steve wouldn’t be able to say two words to a guy like this, but he’s angry and embarrassed, so speech isn’t a problem today.

“I coulda handled that,” he grouses, glaring up at the brunet, chin jutting out in a show of stubborn defiance. The brunet’s eyes widen, and a corner of his mouth quirks upward for a moment, but other than that, his face is expressionless.

“Just made the next time worse for me,” Steve continues, picking up the backpack he dropped in the scuffle.

“This is a regular occurrence for you?” the brunet’s voice has a bite to it, and his eyes blaze with an anger that takes Steve’s breath away. Not that it’s all that hard to take Steve’s breath away; he’s asthmatic.

“Uh,” Steve stammers, cursing himself for letting the brunet affect him like this. “Yes. Yes it is. And I can handle it.”

“Right,” the brunet frowns, and there’s a sarcastic edge to his voice. “Sure, you’d have taken him no problem. Sorry for interfering.”

Steve feels the angry flush rising to his cheeks and before he knows it, he’s placing his hands on the kid’s chest and shoving. The element of surprise is on Steve’s side, and the brunet stumbles back a few steps.

“I do not,” Steve huffs, chest heaving. “Need your help. Or your pity.”

The dark-haired teen is glaring down at him, but now the small smile  he was trying to keep in check is playing at his lips. “Tough luck for you, then,” he replies, voice soft and low. “You got my help whether you like it or not.”

“Ugggh,” Steve nearly shouts, and the brunet stumbles back another step, clearly surprised by the fierceness in Steve’s posture, the anger in his eyes. “Guys like you, I swear to god. Your god damn leather jackets, and your fuck-the-world attitudes and your hero complexes. I’m not some fuckin’ damsel in distress.”

“No one said you were,” the brunet’s voice is still low and reasonable, but the smile is gone from his face. “I’m sorry if I offended you. You just looked like you could use a hand.”

“I woulda been fine,” Steve huffs, but it’s hard to be angry when the guy in the leather jacket is standing there honest-to-god _pouting._ “But thanks. I guess.”

The brunet tips his head back, and the laughter that spills from his mouth breaks across Steve like a wave, overtaking his senses, drowning him in warmth. It’s a symphony, a siren song, and Steve thinks it may well be his downfall.

He just smiles in return and asks for the stranger’s name.

“James Barnes,” the brunet grins. “But you can call me Bucky.”

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing?” Steve asks as Bucky sits down across from him in the cafeteria a few days later. It’s pouring out, so Steve’s been forced to remain inside, closer to the rest of the student body, including the guys who knock him around for kicks, than he’d like. It’s almost a relief when the broad-shouldered brunet takes a seat at his table. Almost.

“Sitting,” Bucky snarks, rolling his eyes, and popping an apple slice into his mouth. “And eating my lunch.”

“I can see that,” Steve snaps, but he can’t help the grin stretching across his delicate features. “I meant, what are you doing sitting with me?”

“Are you gonna make me leave your table, Gretchen Wieners?” Bucky grins. “Am I not cool enough for you?”

“No, I,” Steve flushes, stumbling over his words because he feels a little like he’s burning up from the inside as Bucky’s too-intense gray eyes focus in on him. “That’s not what I meant. Nobody sits with me, Bucky. You should be over at one of those tables.” Steve points to the other side of the cafeteria where groups of attractive juniors and seniors are talking and laughing and flirting.

“Why?” Bucky asks, head tilted and brow furrowed in confusion.

“Because,” Steve’s so embarrassed right now he could die. “Bucky, I’m basically a social pariah here. And you’re-” Steve pauses, unsure of how to continue without digging his own grave.

“I’m what?” Bucky’s smiling openly now, eyes dancing with laughter, and Steve’s not sure whether he’d rather hit him or kiss him. “Come on, if you’re such an expert, Steve. Tell me what I am.”

“You’re good looking,” Steve sighs, breaking eye contact and staring down at the worn surface of the wooden table. “And tall and strong. You could have all that,” Steve waves his arm in the direction of the popular kids. “So why the hell would you sit with a loser like me?”

Bucky shrugs. “I’m a sucker for an underdog.”

Steve glares at him, tearing into his sandwich, but he lets it go. It’s easier to just let Bucky sit here and eat in silence than to argue with him.

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky asks a few minutes later.

“Yeah, Bucky?”

Bucky’s mouth twists into a smirk, and _shit_ , that’s going to be a real problem for Steve. “You really  think I’m good looking?”

“I think I’m gonna fuckin’ deck you, Barnes,” Steve grouses, and Bucky just throws his head back and laughs.

 

* * *

 

“Get in the fuckin’ car, Rogers.”

Steve jumps at the sound of Bucky’s voice to his left. The brunet’s idling at the curb in a battered compact car, mouth stretched into a wide grin. “You look like a drowned rat.”

“Thanks,” Steve rolls his eyes as he pulls open the passenger side door and slides in. “Sorry about getting this gem of an automobile wet. Hope it won’t ruin the upholstery.”

Bucky snickers, putting the car back into drive and moving forward. “You’re the sassiest little shit I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“Yeah, well, you’re annoying, Barnes.”

The drive is mostly silent, moments of quiet punctuated as Steve gives Bucky directions to his apartment. Steve glances up at Bucky’s handsome profile from time to time, studying the planes and angles of the brunet’s face.

“Will you quit starin’ at me, Rogers?” Bucky casts a sidelong glance at Steve and grins. “You’re makin’ me nervous.”

Steve blushes to the roots of his hair, mumbling an apology as they pull up to his building. He unbuckles, grabbing his bag and he’s about to open the door when he feels a hand on his thigh.

“Maybe hang in here a sec,” Bucky smiles, and Steve can hardly breathe. “It’s pouring out there.”

“I’ll be fine,” Steve replies, hating how weak his voice sounds. Bucky’s leaning forward, invading Steve’s personal space, and Steve inhales sharply. Bucky smells good, kind of spicy and Steve thinks maybe a little like peppermint, and the way he’s looking at Steve makes the blond squirm. “I’m already soaked anyway.”

Bucky pulls back, and Steve could swear he sees a hint of wistfulness in the other man’s eyes. “Right, sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, opening his door, then turning to the brunet beside him. “Unless, uh, you feel like hangin’ out?”

“Really?” Bucky’s smile has Steve’s heart trip-hammering in his chest, and he has no idea why the hell he invited this guy up to the apartment, but it’s done now.

“I mean, if you want,” Steve mumbles. “You don’t have to.”

Bucky’s already climbing out of the car, and Steve guesses that means he’s got company this afternoon.

 

* * *

 

It becomes a routine for the boys. Bucky drives Steve home and then hangs out for a couple hours. They do homework and study. Sometimes they watch a movie or play a video game. Steve learns that Bucky’s family moved to town because his father’s in the army, and they live over on the base about a mile from Steve’s home.

“Rough to start a new school your junior year,” Steve says after Bucky gives him the rundown on his situation. Bucky just shrugs.

“I’m used to it,” Bucky grins. “Besides, if we hadn’t moved to this base, I might have to make friends who actually like and appreciate me instead of hanging out with you.”

“Fuck you, Barnes,” Steve chuckles, trying not to fidget under Bucky’s intense gaze.

Steve tells Bucky that his mother’s a nurse, that’s why she’s almost never home in the afternoons. Steve’s father passed away when he was small.

“It sucks,” Steve shrugs. “Mostly I feel bad for mom. I can’t even really remember him anymore.”

Bucky doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so he grasps Steve’s upper arm, squeezing gently, and the warmth of Bucky’s hand bleeding through his shirt sets him on fire.

Steve tells himself to get his head out of his ass.

 _Guys like you,_ he thinks, meeting Bucky’s eyes for a moment. _Guys like you never end up with guys like me._

And yet, Steve can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable with someone. Bucky slides into his life with ease, filling the cracks with laughter and his gentle smile. He teases Steve for being way too into Top 40 pop music and Disney movies, so Steve tells Bucky he’s a walking cliche anytime he stretches out on Steve’s bed with a book by Ernest Hemingway or Jack Kerouac.

Steve likes Bucky in his bed. Likes the way the brunet’s long limbs sprawl across his space, likes the way his scent lingers after he’s gone. Bucky always insists there’s room whenever they settle in to watch a movie, but Steve always sits in his desk chair, eyes darting now and again to peruse Bucky’s lithe frame.

 

* * *

 

“Why do you hang out with me?” Steve asks on a damp and gloomy November evening and Bucky’s eyes snap up from the paperback in his hands.

“What?”

“Why do you hang out with me?” Steve asks, a little quieter this time, since he’s sort of embarrassed that he spoke the question out loud. He hadn’t meant to.

“You know, sometimes, when two people like each other, they spend time together,” Bucky snarks as a Cheshire Cat grin spreads across his lips. “I think they call it friendship.”

“You’re an asshole,” Steve sighs, but he’s smiling at the thought. _Friends._

 

* * *

 

“Where’s your boyfriend, shrimp?” Brock calls to Steve as he’s walking down the hall on a Tuesday morning after Christmas break.

Steve ignores the larger teen, swapping out his French and Pre-Calc books for English and Chemistry, but it doesn’t do him any good. Brock and his cronies have him surrounded, and while Steve knows they won’t try anything physical with teachers nearby, the verbal abuse isn’t much better.

“I asked you a question, you fuckin’ fairy,” Brock towers over him, standing too close, and Steve feels his chest start to tighten. He prays the asthma attack will wait to hit him because the only way he could look more pathetic is if he has to pull out his inhaler.

“Problem, boys?” Steve hears a cool voice to his right, and there’s Bucky, dark hair tied up and gray eyes hard as stone. Steve sees Brock’s fists clench at his sides, but he doesn’t make a move.

“Oughta get to class,” Bucky drawls. “We wouldn’t want to be late, would we?”

The bells rings, and Brock and his friends depart, glaring back at Bucky. Steve heaves a sigh of relief and rummages around in his bag for his inhaler.

“You all right?” Bucky asks softly, gray eyes shining with concern as Steve takes a couple puffs of his medication.

“I’m fine,” Steve replies, lungs finally getting back to working they way they’re supposed to. “I just get nervous when they outnumber me like that.”

Bucky nods, then says matter-of-factly, “I’ll walk you to chem.”

“Oh,  _Christ_ ,” Steve exhales melodramatically, but he’s grinning. “What are you gonna ask me to go steady next? Pin me?”

Bucky just smiles, shrugging his shoulders and falling into step with Steve.

 

* * *

 

“So what are your plans for this weekend, boys?” Steve’s mother Sarah asks on one of her rare nights off. She’s usually got the graveyard shift at the hospital, but she always makes dinner on her nights home, and Bucky’s a sport about hanging out with her if he’s over.

“Dunno,” Steve says through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “I should probably get started on my _Macbeth_ paper.”

“I can help if you want,” Bucky grins. “That one’s my favorite. I’ve read it, like, a million times.”

“Yes, but can you analyze it?” Steve teases, watching Bucky’s eyes light up at the challenge. 

“Remind me, which one of us is the junior taking the senior AP English literature class?” Bucky snarks. “Besides, my parents are out of town this weekend; I’ll be bored anyway.”

"You _should_ be a senior, Barnes, so don't start that shit with me," Steve laughs, smiling apologetically when his mother shoots him a stern glance.

“Why don’t you spend the weekend here?” Sarah suggests with a smile, and Steve loves his mother, he really does, but that is a _terrible_ idea.

Steve can handle his stupid crush on Bucky if they’re only spending a couple of hours at a time together. But a whole weekend? Forty-eight hours to embarrass himself and completely wreck the strange friendship they’ve managed to build? Steve doesn’t think he can handle that.

“Ma, I’m sure Bucky’d rather have his own space,” Steve replies, trying to ignore the intensity of his friend’s stare. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bucky grins. “Could be fun. Pizza and movies and video games. And your paper, of course.”

“Besides, Steve, I have to work a double on Saturday and then a night shift on Sunday,” Sarah explains. “It’ll be good for you to have some company. What do you say, Bucky?”

Of course, Bucky accepts his mother’s invitation, winking at Steve as he smiles.

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

They work on Steve’s paper for a solid chunk of Saturday morning and manage to finish a couple of drafts before lunchtime. Steve hates to admit it, but Bucky does know this play like the back of his hand, and there’s no way he’ll get a low grade on this assignment.

They spend the afternoon playing a couple of video games and running down the street to the deli for sandwiches. They order in a pizza for dinner, chatting and laughing as they demolish the pie and an order of fries. But through all this, Steve keeps a cautious distance. Or attempts to, anyway.

Bucky has been invading his space all day. Leaning over Steve’s shoulder as he reads a paragraph, his breath ghosting across Steve’s neck. Sitting so close on the living room couch while they’re playing video games that their thighs touch. Throwing an arm around his shoulders on the way back from the deli. It’s driving Steve _crazy_ , and it’s next-to-impossible not to lean into every touch.

So, Steve has no idea why he agrees that they should just watch a movie in his room instead of the living room because the bed will be more comfortable. But he does.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll just sit on the desk chair,” Steve sighs as they struggle to fit on his twin bed. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bucky grins, pulling Steve back so that he’s lying against Bucky’s chest. Steve’s heart races at their proximity, and he can hardly breathe he’s so overwhelmed. If he has an asthma attack because of this, he’s never going to be able to look Bucky in the eye again. “See, this is fine.”

“Yeah, sure,” Steve replies, wincing at the way his voice cracks. He starts the movie, but he can’t concentrate. He’s too busy inhaling Bucky’s spicy-sweet smell, memorizing the way the brunet’s arms curve around his slight frame and the way it feels to lie against his solid chest.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, he barely notices Bucky running a gentle hand up and down his spine at first. But then it’s all he can think about, the feather-light touch starting a fire low in his belly. Bucky’s hand trails from his shoulder blades down his back, traveling farther on each downward stroke until his hand settles on the small of Steve’s back.

Steve shifts, body moving against Bucky’s, noting the sharp intake of breathe he hears as he wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist. He looks up at the brunet through too-long lashes and loses his breath at the heat in the other man’s eyes.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is low and raspy as he leans down so that he’s just inches from Steve’s mouth. “Would it be- Can I kiss you?”

“What the hell do you wanna do that for?” Steve sighs, throwing a leg across Bucky’s and watching the brunet’s pupils dilate.

“Because I like you, punk,” Bucky replies, lips a hair’s breadth away now. Steve can practically feel them already and can’t stop the shiver that rolls through his body.

“Please, Steve,” Bucky whispers. “Please say I can kiss you.”

“Ok,” Steve sighs, and then Bucky’s lips are capturing his, moving gently and coaxing Steve’s mouth open. Steve hums against Bucky’s mouth, liking the way the brunet shudders when Steve runs his fingers through his thick brown hair. Steve starts to pull away, to ask Bucky what the hell they’re doing, but the brunet chases Steve’s lips, deepening the kiss, exploring Steve’s mouth like it’s uncharted territory he’s been dying to traverse for ages.

Bucky’s hands slide down, cupping Steve’s ass and squeezing, and Steve moans into the other man’s mouth before he can stop himself. Bucky pulls back at that, flush with arousal and smiling like he’s just won the lottery.

“You’re very responsive,” Bucky whispers as he peppers kisses along Steve’s jawline. “I like it.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Barnes, or I’m kicking you out of my bed,” Steve grumbles, but he’s grinning too.

“Whatever you want, Steve,” Bucky sighs as he works his way back to Steve’s mouth.

And then Steve’s lost in the warm heat of his friend’s embrace.

 

* * *

 

Steve must fall asleep in Bucky’s arms because he wakes early the next morning to the feeling of the brunet’s lips on his neck. He arches back with a sigh, smiling up at Bucky when his friend pulls back to look at him.

“Mornin’,” Bucky grins, leaning down to kiss Steve, and the smaller teen’s heart soars as Bucky’s lips move against his.

“Hey,” Steve sighs as Bucky pulls away and then draws Steve close. Steve curls into the other man’s chest, breathing deeply and savoring the moment.

“Do me a favor, will ya?” Bucky says as he kisses the top of Steve’s head. “Don’t overanalyze the situation like you’re about to. I like you, Steve. A lot. And I think you should consider letting me date you. Like for real.”

“Why?” Steve cranes his neck to look up at Bucky, brow furrowed. “I’m so-”

“Gorgeous? Funny? Perfect?” Bucky smiles. “Unless you’re about to say one of those words, I’m gonna have to shut you up.”

“I wonder how you’ll manage that,” Steve’s grin is sly, and Bucky chuckles as he captures the blond’s lips with his own, the kiss full of promise.

 _Guys like you_ , Steve thinks. _You’re not supposed to want guys like me._

But Bucky does, and that’s enough for Steve. More than enough.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
